


No Strings

by DoMeCarisi (orphan_account)



Category: Mutual Friends - Fandom
Genre: Alcohol, Drinking, F/M, Music, Mutual Friends, One Night Stand, Party, Smut, Stranger Sex, Strangers to Lovers, affirmative consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-08 19:28:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10394412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/DoMeCarisi
Summary: After a few chance run-ins, you decide to take a risk with a persistent, intriguing stranger.





	

Sitting by yourself on the fringes of the party, you can’t help but watch the tall, lanky man in the red sweatshirt across the room. A mess of brown hair bent over a guitar. Expertly fingering the strings.

You don’t know him. Or at least, you don’t know him well. You first bumped into each other earlier this week, and then again this morning at a bodega on West 27th and 6th. And now somehow, you’ve both ended up at the same flat party in Chelsea.

Taking a slow sip of your drink, the spicy oak and butterscotch notes warming your chest and lightening your head, you keep your eyes on him, watching him play. Even though your previous encounters had been brief, he had left an impression on you. You were intrigued.

You continue to watch, eyes wandering across the body of the guitar resting on his thigh when he looks up and catches your gaze. There’s a flash of recognition followed by a smile, but you instantly turn away -- cheeks bright red, embarrassed that he caught you staring.

You finish the last your drink in one gulp and stand up to get another, walking through the room full of competing conversations and laughter, table surfaces littered with abandoned glasses and empty bottles and half-eaten appetizers. You’re buzzed and surrounded by people you don’t know, unsure where your friends were hiding. Probably on the fire escape smoking cigarettes, you imagine.

After making it to the kitchen and choosing a beer, you turn around to see him leaning against the counter. Watching you. Hands hidden by his too-long sleeves, lips pulled into a smile.

“So, are you stalking me?” he asks playfully, narrowing his eyes. “Because I kind of get the feeling you’re stalking me and you should know that’s illegal.”

“Is that so?” you respond, blushing as you look around the kitchen for a bottle opener. “Because I’m pretty sure you’re the one following me.”

“Well, who are we to say no to fate?” He says as he steps toward you, taking the bottle from your hand and easily opening it before handing it back to you. “And since the universe seems to be conspiring to put us together, maybe you’d like to, I don’t know, get dinner with me?”

You lean back against the counter, taking a long drink and studying him carefully.

He continues, “I know this great Ethiopian place just down the block, actually. Sambusas and mesir wot that will change your life.”

He delivers the last line with such overdrawn seriousness that you can’t help but laugh.

“Sounds tempting, but I’m not hungry,” you say, trying not to smile. “And besides, I don’t even know the first thing about you. For all I know, you could be a crazy ax murderer.”

“Well, I may not be an ax murderer, but I am a musician, so…”

You raise your eyebrows, “Does that usually work on the girls you try to pick up?”

He shrugs, “I don’t know, is it working?”

You don’t respond at first, instead smiling down at your drink. Dammit. He was actually pretty cute. A bit overconfident, but sweet.

“So, what do you say?” He’s now standing so close you have to lift your chin to look him in the eye.

“Look, I’ll be honest,” you finally say. “I am interested in you. But I just recently got out of a relationship, and I’m not looking to start another one so soon.”

“Hey, me too!” He puts his hands up in surrender. “I get it. No strings, no pressure. I promise.”

He looks at you, eyes sincere and you consider his proposition for a moment. It was undeniable; something about him tugged at you.

And besides, it had been a long time since you did anything spontaneous, just for fun.

Maybe it was time to loosen up a bit.

“Okay,” you say, feeling emboldened. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well, if you’re not hungry” he shrugs, dimples forming around a playful smile. “My place is just down the block too.”

 

\--

 

“Bienvenue à la maison de Nate,” he says with a ridiculous affected accent, flicking on the light as you step into the apartment.

Your earlier buzz was beginning to wear off, and for a moment you feel a prick of doubt as you stand in the center of the room. His studio was about what you expected; small and spare, if a little messy, with stacks of books, a large vinyl collection, and a few guitars leaned up against the wall.

He ducks into the kitchen and emerges a moment later, holding up two beers. He hands you one with a devilish grin, and the uncertainty disappears, replaced by a growing need at the pit of your stomach.

You take a drink and watch him walk over to an old turntable, slipping a 45 from its tattered sleeve. The tonearm lowers and warm, fuzzy pop guitar and hammering drums begin to play.

_“There’s no stoppin’ the cretins from hoppin’…”_

“Rocket to Russia?” you ask, a hint of surprise in your voice as you approach. It was one of your favorite, most formative albums.

“That is correct,” he says, looking down at the spinning record and taking a drink of his beer. “You know, a lot of people assume the Ramones - ”

He stops short when your hands find his sides, running over the worn fabric of his threadbare sweater. He turns around to face you, his eyes dark and curious. Searching. Placing your bottle down next to the record player, you reach up on your toes to kiss him, finding your confidence and eager to get going. Desire stirring inside you.

He kisses you back, softly at first. Tentative. Exploring. Warm and sweet.

“So,” he says with a sly grin, his hands on your waist. “We’re really doing this then?”

You nod and move your hands up to his shoulders, thumbs hooking under the edges of his sweatshirt and pulling it down, off his arms.

He shrugs out of it entirely and leans down for another kiss - this time hotter and heavier - as your hands continue their exploration, moving down his chest and across his stomach. Soft and pliant.

You press yourself closer to him and feel a twitch in his jeans, his body tensing. His hands dip under the hem of your shirt, his warm fingers inching up your sides and you press firmer still, his bulge growing fast, hardening against your hip.

A wave of exhilaration and disbelief rolls through you as his hands find the button to your jeans, pulling the zipper down and pushing them off your hips. You waste no time repeating the action on him before tearing at your shirts, undressing one another with fervent need as he walks you backward toward the mattress on the floor, leaving your discarded clothes in a crumpled mess behind you.

He stops for a moment, taking you in, quickly licking his lips and lowering you onto the mattress, settling on top of you. His hands move to your bare legs, his thumbs running up the inside of your thighs, slowly spreading them apart.

“So, um...” you start, closing your eyes and enjoying the feeling of his hand moving between your legs, slowly tracing the outline of your lips. His touch unfamiliar and electrifying. “I think you should know, I don’t usually do this sort of thing.”

“What, have sex?” he replies with a laugh, kissing your neck.

“With men I’ve just met,” you clarify, leaning back as he slips a finger inside.

“Ah, right.” His breath hot against your neck as he adds another finger. “You still okay with this?”

The full weight of his tall frame is pressed against you as his fingers work you steadily, building the pressure at the base of your spine. Sparks surging through your core.

“Yes,” you manage, your breath quickening, chest rising and falling rapidly as you grab at the sheets. His fingers curling against you, expertly hitting just the right spot.  

You arch your back, moaning loudly and lacing your hands in his hair as you rock your hips against his hand, the wet tip of his cock pressed against you, his fingers fucking you with more and more urgency.

You’re dissolving under his touch, absolutely overpowered by it, but you need more. You wrap your leg around him, urging him off of you and onto his back, and with one quick movement, you straddle him.

Sinking down onto him inch by inch, he rolls his head back, a low groan emitting from the back of his throat and you feel yourself tightening around him, absolutely stretched, as you start to slowly roll your hips forward.

“Oh god yes,” he says, moaning in appreciation as you start to find your rhythm. His hands move up your sides, then cup your breasts as you ride him harder. Bearing down and grinding against him, you’re both soon red-faced and panting.

“Fuck you feel good,” he moans, voice low and eyes fixed on you. He digs his heels into the mattress, pressing his pelvis up and driving into you, hard and deep, his fingers gripped tightly on your hips.

You’re nearly screaming his name with the feeling of it, the pressure building inside and close to spilling out, on the feverish climb toward orgasm. You lean back, moving your hand down between your legs to rub tight circles against your clit, just enough to push you past the edge.

The pleasure breaks over you with a crash, hips hitching forward and pulling in sharp, shuddering breaths as you slow down, riding the wave.

He then flips you over onto your back and positions himself between your legs, hoisting them up onto his shoulders and then slipping inside. He’s stronger than you originally thought, and you let out a moan at the feeling the new position provides as he moves in and out slowly -- tortuously slowly -- pinning your arms above your head with one hand.

The pace quickens again and you raise up your hips to meet each rough thrust as he pounds into you hard, skin slapping and slick with sweat, bucking against him. Unrelenting and forceful and animal.

Soon, he drops his head, burying it against your calf and biting down, sending a jolt through your body as he comes. Tensing and rocking his hips forward, breath ragged.

He stays like this for a moment, panting and pulsing with warmth, before pulling out and collapsing next to you in bed.

“That…” he started, still catching his breath, “That was amazing. Just what I needed.”

A long moment passes as you lay next to him on the crumpled sheets, skin flushed and heart racing. Naked and spent. Happily satisfied.

And then the music stops with the click of the needle and you’re brought back into the moment, reality settling back in. Suddenly very aware that you are in bed with a relative stranger.

Reaching over the side of the bed, you pick up your phone to find several missed texts from your friends, wondering where you had run off to. Worried about your whereabouts.

“Shit,” you groan, getting up and hastily picking your clothes up off the floor. “I really need to get going.”

As you button your pants, a print on the wall catches your eye. Tight, multicolored concentric circles against a stark white background.

“Wait, is that a Frank Stella?”

“Oh, that old thing? Yeah,” he smiles, propping up on one elbow. Looking at you curiously. “So, in addition to late 70s protopunk, you’re into post-modern art? Interesting.”

“I guess there’s a lot you don’t know about me,” you smirk, clasping your bra.

You pull your shirt on then slip on your shoes, turning to him with your hands on your hips. Feeling slightly awkward and unsure what to say. Sad that the night was already over.

“So… this was fun,” you say, inwardly cringing at how cliche the words sound as they hang in the air between you.

“Yeah, it was,” he says, nodding in agreement. He then pauses, hesitating. “You want to do this again sometime?”

“I thought you said no strings?”

For a second, his smile wilts but he quickly recovers.

“Uh, yeah, I did, didn’t I?” he says. He looks down, running his hand through his hair. “I mean, it doesn’t have to be, though. If you want.”

You look at him, chewing on your lip. For the first time realizing how blue his eyes are.

“Yeah,” you say, noticing the flutter in your chest as you admit it. “ I’d like that.” 


End file.
